will you sink down at me?

Jaskier hears him sometimes. Geralt, humming, when he thinks he’s out of earshot. But Jaskier’s a bard - his ears made for music and melody - with an innate ability to pick apart sounds, and through the noise of the forest he hears the hums. Not Geralt’s usual hmm he’s come to know - but a hum - a song without lyrics barely breaking past Geralt’s lips.

“What’s the song?” Jaskier asks casually one morning as Geralt wanders back to the burning out campfire and collects what little belongings they carry with them. “It doesn’t sound like one I’ve heard before.” He idly picks at his sleeves. He doesn’t want to sound too interested, too eager, too demanding.

Geralt gruffs, “What song?”, but Jaskier sees the way his shoulders tense, even beneath all that heavy, studded armour.

“The one you hum as you tend to your swords.”

“Your ears must be getting old Jaskier, you must be hearing things. There is no song.”

Geralt avoids his eye and climbs atop of Roach, staring straight ahead. He says not a word but waits for Jaskier to climb up behind him. Jaskier does, with a curious expression, and words almost slide off his tongue but something makes him bite them back.

“You’re singing the song again,” Jaskier points out, as Geralt sits otherwise quiet and still on a huge broken branch, wiping his silver sword back and forth with an old rag. “What is it?”

Geralt stops and looks Jaskier in the eye. “None of your concern.”

“Oh please,” Jaskier huffs, “I’m a bard. If there is one thing in this world that is my concern, it’s songs.”

“Leave it, Jaskier.”

And Jaskier does.

It’s a warm, humid night; fireflies dance through the air and the sound of cicadas carry across the water where Geralt wipes blood from his arms and into the river, when he hears it. Gentle plucking of strings from the camp in an all too familiar tune. He finishes washing and carries his boots back to the fire where he drops them on the ground with a thud. “What is that?”

Jaskier doesn’t look up from his lute but his lip twitches at the side into a barely there, sly smile. “It’s your song. Well, the melody at least.” He kicks his legs out in front of him. “Although it would sound a lot better if it had some lyrics to go with it.” He looks up at Geralt with raised eyebrows, and he’s silently asking please won’t you just tell me why this song is so important?

Geralt falters. “If I tell you, will you shut up about it?”

“Absolutely not.” A grin and gleaming eyes.

It’s the answer Geralt expected and honestly, the one he’s happy with.

“Do you have ink?” he asks Jaskier, who practically leaps across the fire to his bag to pull out paper and feather. He hands them to Geralt who scribbles down words and the fire slowly burns out to the sound of scratching parchment.

Jaskier reads the words aloud and looks at Geralt, surprised. “Geralt, this is so sad. Why on earth are you humming this to yourself?”

Geralt shrugs. “You wanted to know.”

Jaskier swallows.

“Can I sing it?”

Stars light up the sky and Jaskier’s nimble fingers tug strings that send sound waves rippling through the night. His voice carries in the wind like treacle - thick and low and full of emotion, like every syllable has a raw piece of his heart attached and he will never, ever get it back. And that’s okay.

“I can’t scrub off the black from my lungs,

I can’t wipe off the taste from my tongue.

What was it like to feel in love-”

Each word is slow, and the O’s are round and the L’s are deep, and if Jaskier wasn’t singing he might be crying.

“I am the house that’s built upon sand,

I am the thought that you couldn’t plan.

I’m the escape to something that’s worse,

I am the shadow driving the hearse-”

Is this really how he sees himself? Jaskier thinks, and his heart fucking shatters. He keeps thrumming the strings but he bends at the knees and he’s on his feet, and he takes slow, purposeful steps towards Geralt, who’s laying back against the log and staring skyward.

His voice barely a whisper -

“I will never go backwards,

I will never be seen-”

Footsteps stop as he reaches Geralt’s side and to his surprise, it’s Geralt’s voice that murmurs the last lines, looking up at him with those orange glow eyes.